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Cape Fear Dad - It's just a fishing expedition

By David W. Frederiksen

Published: Friday, July 11, 2014 at 10:50 a.m.

Last Modified: Friday, July 11, 2014 at 10:50 a.m.

Boys on small bikes with cans of night crawlers and fishing poles are showing up on my front porch. Their straw-blonde hair sticks out at right angles from beneath their helmets, and they wear socks up past their shins. They smell like campfire smoke. Smart phones beep and chirp in their back pockets.

And they're asking for Olivia.

I figured this day would come. I just didn't think it would be in the context of fishing, but apparently that's what these sixth-grade boys do, and they want my 11-year-old Olivia to join them. I guess it could be worse – they could be showing up in tricked-out go-carts and black leather jackets.

Their approach is curious. They ride by the house in a group laughing and talking boisterously, as if to announce themselves. In military aviation, I believe they call it "buzzing the tower." Then one of them peels off from the group and makes his way to the door, while the others circle continuously in the street, a sort of security perimeter.

They knock. I answer.

"Hello, is Olivia here?" a tan, freckled face asks.

Guys are generally pretty direct in their communication, but at this age they are super direct. You won't find any Eddie Haskells in this group. On the other hand, you may find one on the other end: yours truly.

"Well, what brings you here today?" I ask, bending at the waist and lowering my head. I open my eyes extra wide and try to be as grotesquely animated as possible. "Are you having a good fill-in-the-blank?" Fill-in-the-blank can be a time of day (afternoon), a holiday vacation (Christmas break) or a recreational event (bike ride)?

As any 11-year-old boy would be, he's horrified. I can see it on his face: "Mr. Fred is weird, really weird." But I don't let up. I ask about grades, teachers, hobbies and any other relevant events, situations or acts of God – all in a style that's as overdone as possible.

You see, it seems that these little boys in black bike helmets and I enjoy the same hobby: fishing. But whereas they fish for blue gill and brim in nearby Burnt Mill Creek, I fish for facts and intentions.

When they can't take it anymore, I'll call for Olivia. Down the stairs she'll ramble in shorts and a graphic T-shirt with her hair in a bun and a smart phone in her back pocket.

The tan, freckled face in front of me lights up. The boys in the street slow their continuous circles. I look to the far end of the porch where a thick jasmine vine hangs. Bees buzz furiously around it.

"I hope you catch a big one today, Olivia," I say.

"Is that all you ever have to say, dad?" she responds.

David W. Frederiksen lives in Wilmington with his wife, Julie, and their daughters Olivia, Zoe and Eve.

<p>Boys on small bikes with cans of night crawlers and fishing poles are showing up on my front porch. Their straw-blonde hair sticks out at right angles from beneath their helmets, and they wear socks up past their shins. They smell like campfire smoke. Smart phones beep and chirp in their back pockets. </p><p>And they're asking for Olivia. </p><p>I figured this day would come. I just didn't think it would be in the context of fishing, but apparently that's what these sixth-grade boys do, and they want my 11-year-old Olivia to join them. I guess it could be worse – they could be showing up in tricked-out go-carts and black leather jackets.</p><p>Their approach is curious. They ride by the house in a group laughing and talking boisterously, as if to announce themselves. In military aviation, I believe they call it "buzzing the tower." Then one of them peels off from the group and makes his way to the door, while the others circle continuously in the street, a sort of security perimeter.</p><p>They knock. I answer. </p><p>"Hello, is Olivia here?" a tan, freckled face asks.</p><p>Guys are generally pretty direct in their communication, but at this age they are super direct. You won't find any Eddie Haskells in this group. On the other hand, you may find one on the other end: yours truly. </p><p>"Well, what brings you here today?" I ask, bending at the waist and lowering my head. I open my eyes extra wide and try to be as grotesquely animated as possible. "Are you having a good fill-in-the-blank?" Fill-in-the-blank can be a time of day (afternoon), a holiday vacation (<a href="http://www.starnewsonline.com/section/holidays02"><b>Christmas</b></a> break) or a recreational event (bike ride)? </p><p>As any 11-year-old boy would be, he's horrified. I can see it on his face: "Mr. Fred is weird, really weird." But I don't let up. I ask about grades, teachers, hobbies and any other relevant events, situations or acts of God – all in a style that's as overdone as possible. </p><p>You see, it seems that these little boys in black bike helmets and I enjoy the same hobby: fishing. But whereas they fish for blue gill and brim in nearby Burnt Mill Creek, I fish for facts and intentions. </p><p>When they can't take it anymore, I'll call for Olivia. Down the stairs she'll ramble in shorts and a graphic T-shirt with her hair in a bun and a smart phone in her back pocket. </p><p>The tan, freckled face in front of me lights up. The boys in the street slow their continuous circles. I look to the far end of the porch where a thick jasmine vine hangs. Bees buzz furiously around it.</p><p>"I hope you catch a big one today, Olivia," I say. </p><p>"Is that all you ever have to say, dad?" she responds.</p><p>David W. Frederiksen lives in Wilmington with his wife, Julie, and their daughters Olivia, Zoe and Eve.</p>